Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest
- Thread starter Boney
- Start date
- Fantasy Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
As someone pro reading thats kind of crazy?
Either the book is benign, in which case the belt would do nothing, or the book carries a curse, in which case the belt will return the curse to its sender.
Why would you remove the protection?!
It wasn't really a serious suggestion, like I said Van Hall did not get cursed and neither would Mathilde be I was just answering a half-joking comment in the same spirit
Edit: just noticed your reminder @vsh dropping the subject.
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WanderingEye
smol skeleton
now I picture Book of Nagash as Tom Riddle's diary.
and any potential necromancers must sort through bad poetry with actual necromantic lore.
I'm pretty sure that if Nagash had channeled his teenage angst at not being the heir to his father's kingdom into bad poerty he never would have become the ultimate Emo Mage of Death.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
"Oh tome of ancient lore, tell me what I must do to master necromancy!"
"Go murder some chickens."
"I-er, what?"
"You want my knowledge? Go murder some chickens and write taunting messages on the wall with their blood. Trust me, it'll be hilarious."
"Go murder some chickens."
"I-er, what?"
"You want my knowledge? Go murder some chickens and write taunting messages on the wall with their blood. Trust me, it'll be hilarious."
Huh, going through that with an eye to de-mythologizing it, you could interpret it as: Big city, greatest in the world(like every great city claims), building a big interfaith temple or tower of magic, hit by regular famine, and then the city got hit by a warpstone meteor, instantly corrupting just about every human in it into beastmen...which this being a massive city would have the only creature in significant quantity being rats, so they template after that.
In which case you don't need a Horned Rat self-bootstrap theory, whoever escaped the city or saw it happen in the distance WILL rationalize it as human nature. They want explanations, or at least someone to blame. Thus the classic Dark Stranger(its always a stranger) bringing doom to the proud and powerful.
The Horned Rat manifested, took the story and ran with it.
- Location
- Europa, Jupiter Orbit
If the patron god of the Skaven, who doesn't have any non-Skaven worshippers of note, whose only portfolios are Skaven-related or Skaven-channeled, whose prophets are exclusively Skaven, who looks like a mutated Skaven, and who generally doesn't ever do anything not somehow related to Skaven, loathes all Skaven for being Skaven, well then what does it even appreciate about its own nature?
Now I want an Omake where Kragg is actually a nice, personable if shy guy who just has a constant Disapproval face. Like Angel Densetsu. He spends most of his time alone with his runes, because nobody wants to talk to him, and he came to the expedition hoping to finally make a friend.
Clearly, we should go make friends with Kragg, the poor guy.
Skaven hate and despise each other, because no other Skaven could possibly be as good as themselves.
Guile
Having a really great time right now
The wizards actually prefer to call him You-Know-Who.
- Location
- California
Canon Skaven are, if not Mary sues, obvious creator's pets given literally all the advantages, and mitigating factors to make all their weaknesses irrelevant.
Change my mind.
(Or don't, might be off topic. I'll post a more detailed rant on the pet peeve thread later)
Change my mind.
(Or don't, might be off topic. I'll post a more detailed rant on the pet peeve thread later)
Rat peeve, so to speak.
- Location
- Pilipinas
Why stop with cats? Ranald's other holy animal are magpies and the latter can reach more places.
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
He already did, but magpies use their powers for evil.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
As a Quester I must vehemently deny that seeking to get all the shinies is evil.
Now, let's get back to planning how to obtain more dark and forbidden books that we don't have time nor inclination to read.
- Location
- Pilipinas
I dont know, its kinda hard to resist the shiny.
Depends what kind of magpie we're talking about. European magpies are devotees of Ranald in the form of the Night Prowler obviously, but Australian magpies mostly serve Khorne.
Karak Eight Peaks: A Second Interlude
[*] The death of the Warboss, the shattering of an Almost-Rogue Idol, and the weakening of Mork.
[*] The residents are weakened, taking the Citadel is now a possibility.
[*] You'd have done the same once. Tell her you understand, but treat her to a lecture on the risks and dangers of miscasts.
[*] The residents are weakened, taking the Citadel is now a possibility.
[*] You'd have done the same once. Tell her you understand, but treat her to a lecture on the risks and dangers of miscasts.
For generations, Karak Azul has stood alone. Once the underground highways to Karak Izril and Karak Eight Peaks bustled with traffic, but with every other southern Hold long since fallen, the only reminder that the rest of the Karaz Ankor exists is the occasional hardy expedition from Karaz-a-Karak that dares the terrors of the Dark Lands to travel up the Naz Kadrin, and for the past few centuries, gyrocopters modified for range and piloted by the daring few who would risk the long voyage over unfriendly mountains. To the Dwarves of Karak Azul, the rest of the civilized world seems more like a pleasant daydream than a tangible part of their lives, and the only living beings outside their hold were greenskins, Skaven, and somehow worse creatures.
So when a knocking came at external doors that hadn't seen a friendly visitor in living memory, there was a great deal of alarm.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom. The impact rang through the empty hall, and those standing guard - for unfriendly visitors were still a constant threat - exchanged glances. A protocol had been passed from father to son a dozen times over for how to answer a polite knock rather than an incipient siege, but the knocking had driven it from their minds. One ran off to tell all who would listen, and the other licked dry lips and wracked an uncooperative memory and hoped this wasn't some enemy trick.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
"Friend or foe?" he asked, then repeated at a yell loud enough to penetrate the door, knuckles whitening on his axe.
The response that came was in a language he knew nothing of, but it sounded like neither greenskin nor ratman.
A chorus of footsteps announced the arrival of reinforcements, a motley collection of everyone who had been in shouting distance, most armed and some armoured and all ready to defend the hold. They spent some time deliberating, and as they did the knocking sounded again. Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
The crowd grew as deliberations concluded, and before long the King entered, beloved King Kazador, full of youth and vigour. He was never one to back down from a fight, and at his urging the door was finally pulled open - an act that hadn't been performed without a Throng standing ready to march out to war for three thousand years - and all present raised their weapons and prepared a battlecry.
And then lowered their weapons, their cries going uncried. On the other side stood a sight none expected - a single lightly-armoured manling, sitting astride a wolf. The nonplussed Dwarves stared at the manling, and the manling returned their stares. Then he spoke the same phrase he had spoken before, and this time there was one that understood him.
By the King's side, a Longbeard who often spoke of the travels of his youth was struck with shock greater than his fellows. King Kazador remembered that his advisor understands the manling tongue, and demanded to know what this strange visitor was saying.
"He says he bears word," says the Longbeard. "Word from King Belegar, Ruler of Karak Eight Peaks."
King Kazador snorted. "The latest claimant? Is he sending manlings to perform his tour this time, instead of coming in person to ask to be gifted a Throng?"
The Dwarf nearest the manling had accepted a scroll from him, and stared down at the runes within. "'We have the East Gates,'" he read. "'We have Karag Lhune. Once more the valiant fallen are being recorded in the Hall of Oaths, and once more Clan Angrund blood stains the stone of our home. If you hurry, you might just arrive in time to share in what glory remains, before the manlings claim it all.'"
King Kazador stared as the scroll was passed to the Longbeard, who peered down at it. "The seal is genuine," he said numbly. "Should I fetch my ink-"
"Ink?" roared Kazador, shaken from his shock. "Didn't you hear what my Brother-King said? Get your axe! Get your helm! Rally every Dwarf that can see lightning and hear thunder! Someone get Kazrik, tell him to bring his best axe! Wait," he grabbed the Longbeard as he attempted to follow the orders. "Ask the manling, is Belegar married?"
The Longbeard repeated the question, and the bemused manling shook his head.
"Someone get Kazrina, tell her to bring her best axe! The Dwarves are on the warpath!"
---
Kragg is very much the star of today's events, and though part of you is a little peeved that nobody but Ranald is going to know the full extent of what you risked and what you achieved today, you can't deny how spectacular the display you witnessed was. And though it wasn't done in complete safety - anyone foolish enough to try to congratulate Kragg has been treated to a long and upset diatribe on the hairline fracture his Anvil has suffered and the many long hours of work it will take to return it to anything approaching a satisfactory condition - the dangers of it are, from what little you know of Runic magic and Anvils, entirely limited to those in the admittedly considerable blast radius of the Anvil itself. You mentally compare it with some of the ways you've seen magic gone wrong, like your long ordeal with the Thorned One and what that blithering idiot Sunscryer did when you needed him to- when he was needed at Drakenhof. In that light, you suppose there's a point to be had.
Kragg does seem to be eyeing you strangely, though. His glare at you has always been disapproving, but not more so than his background level of disapproval when staring at a world that contains a declining Karaz Ankor, so you've never taken it personally. This type of attention is new and concerning to you, and you wonder if he has an inkling of what happened. You know that Dwarves cannot feel the Winds of Magic (though from that glimpse snatched from the mind of Mork, you wonder if that's truly universal) but those skilled in Runecraft are known to be able to sense magic almost backwards. All Dwarves are naturally slightly repellent to magic, and Runepriests are able to tap into and consciously control that repellence, primarily for the purpose of combating enemy magics. But they are also to be able to sense magic as whatever it is in their nature that repels magic does so, in the same way a man in armour could tell when a projectile ricochets off their armour, and with practice might learn to tell between a stone and an arrow and a bullet. Exactly how much they can sense is beyond what even the Grey College has been able to determine, but from Kragg's looks you think you can add a data point to those ongoing investigations.
The meeting comes to order, and opens with a toast to the fallen. Your own palate has only just started to grow beyond the point where you can identify what is and isn't ale, but to those with the taste for it the ale currently available is at best mediocre. It's the source of much grumbling, but the only alternative would be risking the 'good stuff' in a lengthy river cruise and an elongated underground wagon ride, so it's considered a necessary hardship.
"Not how we saw the day going," King Belegar opens, to a round of agreements from all. "But we certainly rose to the occasion. Before we start studying, there's credit due and I'll not delay its payment. First, to the esteemed Runelord of Karaz-a-Karak, the thanks of Vala-Azril-Ungol for a display of Runic might of a calibre that I had thought lost to the ages." Again there is agreement, and Kragg's habitual frown twitches as he gives a single nod in response. "Second, to the dwarves of Karak Izor. They have believed enough in my Karak that many of their number are seeking to make it their home, and it is their eldest and wisest that have been where the fighting is thickest. Every lost Longbeard diminishes our race, and it is our duty not to let their sacrifice be in vain." A Khazalid murmuring you gather to be equivalent to 'hear, hear' rumbles from the Dwarves present. "Third, the siege engineers. Their numbers and their weapons hail from five different holds, but the craftsmanship of their actions today show them to all be carved from the same stone." Another rumble of accord. "And finally, and to my shame, most unexpectedly - the bravery of the line of men. All manner of Umgi answered my call to arms, but I never guessed them capable of receiving the charge of a maddened Waaagh with such fortitude. Their showing today would do credit to a line of Ironbreakers." You prevent an eyebrow from raising, knowing that the line of men had more than a little assistance in their actions, and instead of watching Codrin receive the praise for his men you're watching to catch the surly look Kragg shoots at King Belegar. Interesting.
"All that said," King Belegar continues, "the time is over for patting of backs and it is now time for tugging of beards. Master Weber, though your acts may never be part of the songs they'll sing of our battles, I have been finding it difficult to even begin to tally the number of Dawi lives your interventions have saved. Were you able to rival your work in Karag Lhune?"
If only you knew, you think. "If not rival, then at least add to that tally," you say. "The Black Orc Priest or Shaman that was attending to the Temple turned out to be the local leader, though I couldn't say for sure whether he was merely the Big Boss of Karag Nar or the Warboss of the entire Broken Toof Tribe. He was attempting an empowerment ritual for the Idol of Gork that was the shrine-"
"Of Gork and Mork," Ulthar corrects.
"In this case, just Gork," you respond, grateful that he'd inadvertently contributed to your partial truth. "That seemed to be a matter of contention for them, too. It seems the other of their Gods was objecting to being left out, and I was able to interrupt the Idol's empowerment just as their disagreement was coming to a head, and the power that Mork invested in trying to combat the Idol was lost - perhaps permanently - as the Idol shattered."
The looks you receive are sceptical, but Kragg's brow is crinkled in thought, and he speaks up after a moment. "It's not impossible," he concludes. "Carelessness and impetuousness are part of their nature, and there was a great deal of energy active in Karag Nar."
Silence stretches again as everyone reassesses. "Is that what provoked them?" King Belegar eventually asks.
"The timing is right," is your scrupulously correct response.
"Well, we knew that the assault on Karag Nar might provoke a reaction," King Belegar says. "Perhaps not this much of a reaction, but there are never guarantees when dealing with the Grobi. Ulthar, how was your end of the scouting?"
"With the poison brewed by the Vornzhufokri, we were able to cause a good deal of infighting amongst those on guard," he reports. "However, the Black Orcs roused by the disturbances proved able to strike down the poisoned and restore order amongst the others. They were the obvious next targets, but many proved too alert to get a shot on them before the battle outside started and my Rangers withdrew."
Skaroki takes it from there. "Victory was won, but not cheaply. The enemy were able to barricade a series of choke-points that cut us off from the majority of the Karag, and without the time to seek another entrance or wear them down, it turned into a bloody battle, and as you know, casualties were highest amongst the most experienced."
"As events have shown, time was of the essence," King Belegar says grimly. "Once more, our thanks to Karak Izor." Skaroki nods in response, and heads turn expectantly to Codrin. "Now to the battle outside."
"My archers," Codrin begins immediately, "will atone for their showing today."
Ulthar frowns. "Can't expect manlings to take it in stride when heaven and earth take a side on the battlefield."
"They are Stirlanders," Codrin responds. "Their ancestors kept their heads when the hungry dead snapped at their heels and the wind itself tried to tear the soul from their bodies. They will atone." None of these Dwarves are from Zhufbar or Karak Kadrin, so none have had to face the terrors of Sylvania, but they understand the sentiment and a series of understanding nods meet Codrin's words. "More happily, the other forces under my command have done themselves and this Expedition proud. We received the greenskin charge without a single step back, and bloodied them for the attempt." Pride is clear in his voice, and you wonder at what long-term effects there could be of the Runic bolstering he had unknowingly experienced.
The rest of the battle reports are without surprises, with Durin taking pride in the hammering his siege engines delivered, the Knights speaking of the easy pickings of scattered greenskins they had taken their share from, and Titus shrugging off his own forces' contribution towards the end of the battle. With most of the surviving greenskins having fled into Kvinn-Wyr, the discussion naturally turns to its inhabitants.
"That many trolls in one area cannot be living off moss and cave insects," Ulthar says. "The rock trolls do, of course, eat rock, but the common and river trolls would need live prey. Thaggoraki would eventually either fortify or retaliate if their forces were suffering constant heavy attrition, so the most likely possibility is that they're picking off Grobi. Needless to say, seeing them as their staple food would interfere with any attempts for the Grobi to enlist them."
"So we consider them neutral," King Belegar muses. "Remaining on guard against them, of course, but they'd be as much an obstacle to our other enemies as they would be to us. The threat would not be an assault in force, but individual trolls wandering out."
"And that's a threat that we can guard against," says Durin. "We've got forty bolt throwers, and I'm authorized to negotiate on behalf of Karak Norn should you wish to purchase our thirty for your long-term defences. A wall, or even just a palisade as it's only needed for early warning, and a series of towers or even just reinforced firing positions. By the time a troll's finished bludgeoning his way through the palisade the bolt thrower crews will be more than ready."
"Leaving only the Citadel until the Eastern Valley can be considered secure," King Belegar says. "Titus, how's the test farms?"
"Early days yet," the Halfling says, "but promising. A lot of our crops won't grow this far south but we've sent word back to Barak Varr for seeds from Tilea - we're about as far south as Luccini by my reckoning, and while we're not likely to get their rain, if we can find enough water to irrigate that won't matter. So it becomes entirely a matter of soil quality, and between the amount of corpses we've got for fertilizer and young Panoramia we should be able to make something of the Eastern Valley."
"All the more reason, then. The Citadel. Between the battering it received from Kragg and the bloodying we gave its residents, things have changed. No doubt it's been claimed by some up-and-coming brute but they won't be as established as the previous one. Less followers means less defenders, less familiar with the Citadel means less effective sentries. Thoughts?"
Nods and murmurs of agreement sound from most present, yourself included. "The Underway," Skaroki says bluntly. "Right now we can either defend Karags Nar and Lhune from below, or we can move into the Underway and defend the approaches from Kvinn-Wyr and Karagrin. Well enough. But the Citadel-"
"Aye, the Underway under the Citadel links the Sentinels to the Cavern of Stars at the center of the Karak. We'll need to defend it from below as well as from the caldera. But we'll fill the Citadel from ground to stars with Quarrellers and Thunderers, and we line the precipice to either side of the Citadel with every siege weapon we no longer need pointing inwards from the East Gates, and it won't take long for even the Grobi to catch on that the caldera means death. From that point the only real threat will be from below, and that's preferable to guarding the entire Eastern Valley from attack from a Citadel in Grobi hands."
"Will any object to extending the goals of the Expedition?" Ulthar asks.
"Will they?" King Belegar repeats. You shake your head, as do the Dwarves present, as do the Knights after the moment of thought. The subtler turn their eyes towards Codrin, those less so their entire heads, and he's looking thoughtful.
"Yesterday," he says slowly, "I would have been less sure. But today those under my command have either victory to keep them warm or shame burning in their gut. Feed them well today and fill tonight with ale and song, and tomorrow they'll march with you against any enemy."
"That," says King Belegar with a smile, "is something we can do."
---
You find Panoramia with the Halflings she disobeyed you to fight alongside, and you take a moment to watch her with them. They're up to their wrists in muddy soil in the small trial gardens set up behind the safety of the East Gates, and the only reason you can't call their conversation arcane is because you can understand arcane. Dirt is dirt, but they have found a great deal to discuss in their dirt, and you listen as they debate the effects of three-field and four-field systems, and speculate what the soil requires that the plants may be providing. A memory unearths itself of the farm of your childhood, of the West Field which would be planted one season and the South Field the next and never both, a ritual followed because it had always been followed. Any child that questioned it would be told that it was the way Rhya demanded, and if you didn't follow the dictates of the Gods you may as well be a filthy Halfling.
You shake your head to rid yourself of the unwelcome memory, and clear your throat loud enough to break through the conversation. Only because you were looking for it were you able to catch the flash of panic on Panoramia's face before she excused herself from her fellow workers to come over to you. "Magister!" she says with aggressive cheerfulness. "The soil here has had a harsh time of it - I believe it would have hosted greenskin fungi for a few generations until it was exhausted. They can overcome that, but they have an easier time of it underground, and of course there's no shortage of caves here, so once the soil gave out it was abandoned." You say nothing, and Panoramia wipes her hands absently on her robes, where the fading of its colour suggests that she had done so and then had to scrub the stain out innumerable times in the past. "The Halflings don't have the Rhythm of Rhya, but they've got something called Phineas' Footsteps which is a child's skipping rhyme that dictates almost the exact same rotation. Isn't that interesting?"
"Sleep well?" you ask.
"Oh." To her credit, she doesn't even try to lie.
"Grey Order, remember. We see all, we know all."
"Magister, I'm sorry, but-"
"But there was a battle and you couldn't just lie there and sleep while your little friends might have been bleeding and dying?" She's staring at you, and you have to keep yourself from laughing. It's easy for people to suspect you can read minds if what they're thinking is so obvious. "Panoramia. Druid name, right?"
"Yes, Magister."
"Parents Jade College as well?"
"Yes. Ma teaches now, Da's Perpetual." Perpetuals were Apprentices-in-Perpetuity, those who had some magic but lacked either the power, the desire, or the aptitude to attempt to reach full Magisterial status, many finding comfortable roles in the Colleges as servants or secretaries or assistants or librarians. Or, apparently, as spouses.
"So you grow up knowing you'll probably be magical, you got taught all the little tricks right from the start, you know to take your time and most Ghyran spells are happy to let you..." To Panoramia, magic was not a terrifying curse that appeared one day without warning and upended the life she thought she knew. It had been a constant her entire life, and even before her ability to touch and shape Ghyran had sprouted she had likely been surrounded by it and had known it intimately before her first spell. And Ghyran itself was very easy to let your guard down around. It encouraged life and growth, it thrived in happy little groves full of trees and animals and birdsong and flowers, it sprouted like a tree and flowed like a river. "I understand why you had to be there. But I told you to sleep for a reason. What's your worst?"
"What?" But she knows what you meant. It was a common game among young wizards. What's your worst miscast? "My, um, my hand, it cramped up into a sort of claw shape. I couldn't move it for..." she pauses as she sees the look you give her. "For about three minutes..."
"I summoned a daemon," you say, and you're grimly pleased at the expression on her face. "At the age of sixteen. Wisdom's Asp. It followed me from the other side of mirrors and it wanted so very much to wrap itself around me and bury its thorns into my skin. It stalked me for seven years until I managed to trap it." She stares at you in horror. "Don't you worry about that - they like Ulgu and Ghur and Hysh. No, mishandled Ghyran calls to Rotwyrms, giant insubstantial daemon-maggots that hunger for flesh." You look away, so Panoramia's horror doesn't dissuade you. "Just last month at Und-Uzgar, my shadow came to life and crushed to death the creature closest to me, which I'm very glad was a Skaven rather than any of my compatriots." You see her look down, and you follow her gaze to your shadow, which as always is flitting around obeying its own desires instead of the angle of the sunlight. "Yes, it's been like that ever since. Despite that, I consider myself lucky. During the Battle of Drakenhof, a Magister of the Light Order named Jovi Sunscryer fumbled something he was trying to do and exploded into flames of pure Hysh. Needless to say, he died. So did most of those unlucky enough to be living in that district. Are you starting to see my point?"
You turn to face her again, and eventually she remembers to reply. "Yes, Magister."
"I'm glad. If you really must be there, get one of your new friends to teach you the bow. Because if you keep casting when you shouldn't be casting, it won't just be you that suffers, it will be everyone around you. Understood?"
"Yes, Magister."
"Good. Off you go." She flees, and you sigh. You had to channel a bit of your Master- of your former Master for that, but if you ever met whoever taught Panoramia you won't need anyone's example to be properly scolding. Anyone that reaches Journeyman without being absolutely terrified of the consequences of mishandled magic hasn't been taught properly.
You hope the Jades weren't stupid enough to have let her be Apprentice to her own mother.
---
The day after the Expedition left Barak Varr, so did a convoy of wagons. The same the day after, and the day after that, and so forth all the way to today, and likely for quite some time into the future. An experienced baggage train can match an army on the march for speed, so they take no longer than you did to cross the same amount of ground. The day after the Expedition arrived at the East Gates, the first set of wagons arrived. The next day's were one day's travel up the road, and the next day's further still, and so on. Seven baggage trains in Death Pass. Seven travelling through the dark of the Underway. Seven wearing ruts into the formerly unspoiled wilderness of the valley. And if the coin-counters of Barak Varr had decided it was more economical to travel by road rather than pushed upstream by steam and Dwarven artifice, another fourteen stretched out along Blood River. That was gunpowder for cannons and bolts for crossbows and whetstones for axes and ropes for catapults. It was also tents and shoes and wood for fires and soap for washing and bandages for the wounded. It was drinking water, because even though shovels had rediscovered the aquifer days ago, it would take weeks for the water that Barak Varr had sent before that discovery to stop arriving.
It was also food and ale, and though nobody had gone hungry or thirsty, under King Belegar's careful hand enough had been put aside just in case it was needed. And though one obvious need for food and drink was to sustain life, almost as vital was sustaining morale, and to that end all those carefully stockpiled victuals were to be put to use - and on top of that, many a gauntlet had been thrown down as Ranger and Knight and Huntsman alike set out to display their skill at hunting, so if there were any goats or sheep unfortunate enough to call the area home, they would be adding to the feast. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow's battle has been thoughtfully scheduled for late afternoon, leaving plenty of time to sleep off the hangovers.
If Mathilde wishes to disclose the full events in the Temple, Ranald included, now is the last appropriate time.
[ ] Tell Belegar.
[ ] Tell Belegar and Kragg.
[ ] Some other combination (write in)
[ ] Remain silent.
How will Mathilde spend the time before the celebration? The two with the most votes will win, but only one from each category.
[ ] Join the hunting with Esbern and Seija
[ ] Join the hunting with Maximilian
[ ] Join the hunting with Ulthar
[ ] Join the hunting with Codrin
[ ] Join the hunting with Sigwald Kriegersen
[ ] Join the hunting with Ruprecht Wulfhart
[ ] Cook with Panoramia and Titus
[ ] Cook with Karak Izor
[ ] Cook with Clan Angrund
[ ] 'Make sure the ale hasn't gone bad' with Skaroki
[ ] 'Make sure the ale hasn't gone bad' with Durin
[ ] 'Make sure the ale hasn't gone bad' with Johann
What will Mathilde be doing during the celebration? The three with the most votes will win.
[ ] Drinking
[ ] More drinking
[ ] Drinking games
[ ] Being maudlin
[ ] Eating
[ ] Telling war stories
[ ] Gambling
[ ] Listening to Longbeards grumble
[ ] Sparring
[ ] Target shooting
[ ] Put on a magic display (Petty and Lesser only)
[ ] Play with a giant wolf
[ ] Play with a demigryph
[ ] Other (write in suitably celebratory activity)
[ ] Valayan religious service
[ ] Ulrican religious service
[ ] Taalite religious service
[ ] Hold a Ranaldan religious service
[ ] Help move the Karag Nar hoard
Shall Mathilde engage in Dwarven Shenanigans, should the opportunity arise?
[ ] Yes to Shenanigans
[ ] No to Shenanigans
- On the topic of disclosure: You are not Ranald's only friend. He has Priests, some of those Priests are High Priests, and some of those High Priests attend the Grand Conclaves. If Ranald wishes it to be known that Mork is disadvantaged, he is able to make it so, and in ways that do not reveal your involvement.
- While some Rangers will be scouting the Citadel today, if you wish to do so you will have the opportunity tomorrow.
- Though the Colleges do their very best to dissuade it, by the time they reach Journeyman most wizards have cultivated the ability to cast Petty and Lesser Magics while drunk.
- 'Spend time with X' is not a valid celebration activity. This is for Mathilde.
- Dwarven Shenanigans largely consist of finding new and interesting ways to torment greenskins. If they are engaged upon, there will only be permanent consequences for anyone but the greenskins if they are judged to be hilarious.
- No matter the vote, you will be spending time with Wolf in the coming update.
- This has been the case since last update, but I forgot to include it in the update itself so just to make it official: discussion of what Mathilde should do with the Liber Mortis are on moratorium until further notice. Once Mathilde is no longer in an active warzone and able to take her time to consider matters, the topic will be revisited.
- A much smaller in scope moratorium: what would happen if Mathilde used Ranald's Coin to lie to the Grey Order? Would they be made suspicious by not being suspicious? This is very much an unstoppable force vs immovable object debate, as the Coin really is that powerful but the Grey Order really is that paranoid, and the topic tends to keep going around in circles. Best to avoid having to find out.
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Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Remain silent.
How will Mathilde spend the time before the celebration? The two with the most votes will win, but only one from each category.
[X] Join the hunting with Codrin
[X] 'Make sure the ale hasn't gone bad' with Johann
What will Mathilde be doing during the celebration? The three with the most votes will win.
[X] Drinking
[X] Telling war stories
[X] Gambling
Shall Mathilde engage in Dwarven Shenanigans, should the opportunity arise?
[X] Yes to Shenanigans
How will Mathilde spend the time before the celebration? The two with the most votes will win, but only one from each category.
[X] Join the hunting with Codrin
[X] 'Make sure the ale hasn't gone bad' with Johann
What will Mathilde be doing during the celebration? The three with the most votes will win.
[X] Drinking
[X] Telling war stories
[X] Gambling
Shall Mathilde engage in Dwarven Shenanigans, should the opportunity arise?
[X] Yes to Shenanigans
- Location
- Boston, MA
[X] Tell Belegar and Kragg
I'm thinking this at least
I'm thinking this at least
